Chapter 5
Bona Fide Hustler
Bills of different denominations were scattered all over Zya’s kitchen table. She smiled as she counted her profit from the restaurant. She moved, at the least, five ounces a day at the restaurant, which made her a nice profit daily. She neatly placed her money into five hundred dollar stacks. She began to count the different piles.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen ... Damn, I got about thirteen thousand right here. Not bad. I could get used to this shit, fa real. I never knew coke money could come so fast. Another couple of months of this and I can be set for life!
Zya grabbed a stack of bills and gave them a long kiss. She had never had this much money before, and she couldn’t believe that it was all hers. She had also built a good business relationship with Snow, and her credit was good with him. She got to a point where she was going to re-up every other day. At first Snow grew kind of suspicious. He had never seen a woman move coke like her, not a woman.
Just as Zya was practically drooling over her cash, a brilliant idea entered her thoughts. I wonder if Smitty would deal with me without Jules. I could sell it cheaper than what he was getting it from Jules and run through more bricks, which means more money. Sell it cheaper and make less for every transaction, but in the long run, I would get more money because I would sell them more frequently. Zya pieced her plan together in her mind like a game of chess. Her hustler instincts kicked in, and she was plotting to get more money. The little money that she just got from coke seemed small now that she saw the potential of the dope game.
Zya tore up her apartment looking for Smitty’s number. She opened all of the drawers and looked underneath everything that could be looked under trying to find Jules’s letter that contained Smitty’s number. After an hour of searching her entire place, she gave up. Exhausted and frustrated, she flopped down on her couch and thought long and hard about how she could get in contact with Smitty. That little piece of paper was her only connection to him.
Think, Zya, think. How can you get in contact with Smitty? I got it! I’ll make his ass look for me. I need to contact Big Easy.
“Yo, yo, yo this is Big Easy at Power 105, where we play nothing but the hits. Ladies and gentlemen the jump-off is this Saturday at nine o’clock. Julius Carter aka Jules’s release party is going down at Club Arlenes. It’s going to be on and poppin’, and everybody who’s anybody is going to be there. My man is coming home. He beat the case, and the streets gotta show him love. Welcome home, baby!”
Zya smiled as she turned down the radio and listened as her plan went into effect. She had taken a small portion of her money and put it into promoting a “release party” for Jules. She knew Jules would not see the light of day anytime soon, but used him as a pawn in her chess game.
Fuck it. He’s used me, and now I’m about to return the favor. I’m out for self right now. Jules had a lot of customers with the coke, and I know all of them. Shit, I was the one who usually delivered it to them, but always in public places and never at their spot. I can make some key connections at this party. If they ask for Jules, I’ll tell them that his prison release was postponed and it was too late to cancel the celebration. This is my chance to network, and then I could really start making money. I can hook up with Smitty and everybody else that fucked with Jules. The world is mines.
Zya had dollar signs in her eyes, and knew that the money she was getting out of the restaurant was only the tip of the iceberg. She was aiming for the sky.
Wade sat at his desk with his feet up. He was listening to the radio, and what he was hearing grabbed his full attention. Big Easy was announcing Jules’s release party.
What the fuck are they talking about? I put that nigga in jail myself, and he ain’t getting out no time soon. This must be a mistake, Wade thought angrily as he picked up his phone and called the front desk.
“Yeah, Mona, this is Wade. Do me a favor. Look up some info on Julius Carter. Tell me his release date.” Wade waited a few minutes in silence for the information to come back. Mona gave him the information that he already knew.
“So, he isn’t even eligible for parole for another three years, right? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and wondered why a release party was being thrown for a person who wouldn’t see the streets for at least another three years. Wade made a mental note to go see what was going on at the Arlenes club that Saturday. He turned down his clock radio and put his gun and badge on. He was about to hit the streets for his daily rounds. He always stayed in tune with the streets.
Just as he was about to get ready to leave, his door opened. It was Felix, a rookie cop.
“Yo, Wade. Jones wants to see you in his office ASAP.”
“What the hell does he want me for?” he asked.
“I don’t know. But he looks mad as hell. What did you do now, man?”
“Who knows? I’ll be there in a minute. Thanks,” Wade said just before Felix closed the door and left Wade to himself.
“What the hell does he want to see me for? It’s always something, shit!” Wade muttered as he headed to see what Jones wanted. When Jones called him into his office, nine times out of ten it was to chew his ass out for doing something. The last time Wade was called into Jones’s office, it was to put him on probation with the force because he shot two unarmed dealers in a drug bust. That incident cost them the case, and Jones was infuriated. The time before that, a couple bags of weed were found in Wade’s squad car. Jones called Wade in to confront him, and Wade was still high off the two bags at the time. So, Wade was pretty much on thin ice. Wade’s badge should have been taken a long time ago, but his ability to infiltrate drug rings and take down kingpins was undeniable. He was NYPD’s best.
Wade knocked on Jones’s door hesitantly, and heard his lieutenant’s voice.
“Come in.”
Wade stepped in and watched Jones as he focused on the files that were in front of him.
“What’s up, Lieutenant Jones?”
“Have a seat. I have a new case for you. Now, this target is unlike any you have ever been assigned to. This target is ruthless, as well as the most intelligent drug dealer New York has ever seen. That’s not the best part. She’s a woman.”
Wade sat up in his seat because now Jones had his undivided attention. In the bottom of his gut, he knew who Jones was talking about. Jones slid Wade the profile of the target, and when Wade saw the target, his heart skipped a beat. He knew exactly who it was. He listened as Jones continued.
“This is Anari Simpson aka Tony. She is believed to be one of the top distributors of cocaine in the U.S. She is believed to be the mastermind and top supplier of Supreme Clientele.”
“Supreme Clientele?”
“Yeah, an inside source has informed us that Supreme Clientele is a roundtable where only the top drug distributors around the country are allowed. Tony is believed to be the ringleader and an active member of the table. Many people believed she died seven years ago, in a car explosion in Flint, Michigan, but these pictures prove otherwise.” Jones tossed pictures of Anari walking with bodyguards into the restaurant. “This is her walking into Stello’s in the wee hours of the night three weeks ago. It makes sense for her to come out of hiding seven years after she faked her own death. The statute of limitations just expired, meaning we couldn’t arrest her for fraud for faking her death.”
Wade looked at the picture of Anari, and rage overcame him. He knew who Anari was. Actually, he knew her well. She was involved in the slaying of his favorite cousin, Tiffany Davis about six years back. She was found hung in her apartment in Jersey. The Jersey police labeled it a suicide, but Wade was close to his cousin, and knew she wouldn’t kill herself. It was the little details surrounding her death that led him to believe Anari was still alive and responsible for the murder. Anari and Tiffany had been at odds with each other for a long time, so that created motive. A book was found by Tiffany’s body, entitled Dirty Money. It was a biography about Anari’s life and their beef. Another suspicious thing was Tiffany had a lipstick stain on her cheek. It was obvious that someone had kissed her wearing lipstick.
Forensics couldn’t prove that the kiss had come from Anari, and it went down as a suicide. The Greeks used that tactic, and called it the kiss of death. They kissed their enemies after they killed them as the ultimate sign of disrespect.
Shortly after his cousin’s death, Wade tried to go after Anari, but to no avail. She was virtually untraceable. Even though it went down as a suicide, Wade had a feeling in his heart that Anari was behind it and somewhere smiling.
Wade’s hands began to shake out of pure hatred for Anari as he stared at her file. Wade knew he had to conceal his emotions to avoid getting taken off the case. Jones would not allow him to take the case, knowing that it would be personal. Jones tossed more photos at Wade and continued to brief him.
“That man that you are looking at is Jimmy Castello. He owns Stello’s, the place we believe the roundtable meetings are held.”
Wade rubbed his neatly trimmed goatee and asked, “Stello’s . . . the fancy Italian joint, right?”
“That’s right. We also believe Castello is a member of the table. Castello used to be a henchman for Capone in his early teens back in Chicago. In the late seventies he got convicted of extortion. He got out about ten or fifteen years back, and I guess he couldn’t fly straight. The person you see standing next to him is his son, Meechi. He’s a dumb, arrogant little fuck. He thinks he can’t be touched because of his father. He’s a piece of shit, and he runs the restaurant. I think he will be the weak link, so target him.”
“Damn, they on some real Mafia shit, huh? I thought that shit was just in movies.”
“Nah, my boy, this shit here is real. The FBI has been on this case for a while now. They have sent four undercover agents there, and all of them either come up missing or they ask to be pulled out before they can even build a case.
“When the FBI said they needed someone who thought like a criminal and someone who could match their wits, I recommended you. The chief has been on my ass about getting rid of you, but I always put my ass on the line for you. You have to get a conviction on Anari Simpson. She is by far the biggest drug lord the East Coast has ever seen. And how does that make us look? She’s a woman,” the lieutenant said in exasperation.
“I’m on it,” Wade said as he grabbed the files and headed out of the office. Just before he reached the door, Jones spoke.
“And Wade.”
“What’s up?”
“Cut off those damn cornrolls and pull up your damn pants. You look like the criminals you chase.”
Wade let out a small chuckle and replied, “The same traits y’all hate me for are the same ones that y’all need me for.”
Wade exited the office and began to think. I can’t believe this bitch resurfaced. She killed Tiff, and now I’m about to put her behind bars for a very long time, fa real! Fuck that bitch! Where do I start, though? I thought Supreme Clientele was a myth. My niggas around the way talk about it, but I never believed them.
Even rappers would lie in songs and claim that they were connected to Supreme Clientele, but everyone knew Italians didn’t fuck with black people too often. Wade thought hard about how to approach this, and he came up with an idea. He was going to smoke her out of her hole, shake things up a bit.
He rushed back into Jones’s office and said, “Do you think we can get a search warrant?”
Tonight was the night of the fake release party, and Zya was looking forward to putting her plan into action. She was on her way to pick up Vita. She didn’t tell Vita the real reason for the party, and she played along as if she had forgiven Jules and really was throwing him a bash. Telling Vita her hidden motives would have been the equivalent of putting it on primetime CNN. Vita couldn’t hold water, and Zya knew that there was too much at stake for her to take a chance on telling Vita.
Zya reached Vita’s place and blew her horn as she pulled into the driveway. Not a minute after Zya pulled up, she heard the sound of Heavy’s speakers shaking the ground. He pulled his truck up alongside the curb and hopped out with another guy. Heavy noticed Zya waiting in the driveway and sarcastically spoke to her as he walked by.
“What’s up, Zya? Long time no see, huh?”
Zya threw up her middle finger and shook her head from side to side. Heavy laughed at her sincere gesture and continued to walk toward the house. Zya blew her horn again, letting Vita know she was becoming impatient.
I hate that country-ass nigga. He gon’ get his one day. He got the nerve to speak, like he didn’t try to rape me. What a clown.
Zya saw Vita coming out of the house, still putting on her heels. As Vita scuffled to the car, Zya noticed that Vita had lost a tremendous amount of weight. She almost didn’t even look like herself. Damn, she’s Whitney Houston skinny, Zya thought as she stared at her friend’s physique.
Heavy looked at Vita like she was crazy as he watched her walk down the steps. “Fuck you think you going?” he asked her loudly as he gripped her arm tightly.
“I told you Zya was throwing a party tonight for Jules,” Vita replied.
“What I tell you about that girl?” Heavy asked in a low voice. Vita snatched her arm away from him. “Did you think about what I said?” he asked her.
“Heavy, yeah, I thought about it! Damn, we’ll talk about this when I get back.”
At that moment, Zya blew her horn and smiled sarcastically at Heavy as she watched Vita walk toward her car.
“Hey, girl!” Vita said in exasperation as she got into the car, shaking her head.
“Hey. You ready?”
“Hell yeah. I’m ’bout to get my party on. I can’t believe Jules is getting out.”
“I just found out today he won’t be released for a while. He got into some shit up there and got some time added.”
Vita looked at Zya with concern. She knew that Zya was trying to be there for Jules, even though he had played her. “Damn, girl, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. The party must go on, though. I spent too much money on this celebration to cancel it.”
“I feel you, girl. Let’s get the fuck out of here before Heavy starts tripping.”
Zya pulled off and they headed toward Club Arlene’s.
The party was semi-crowded, just like Zya expected it to be. She wasn’t there to party anyway. It was strictly business for her. At the beginning of the party, she instructed Big Easy to get on the mic and tell everyone that Jules got a little bit of time tacked on for a fight. At first, the mood grew dull, but after Zya bought everyone a round of drinks, they quickly forgot about Jules.
Zya sat at the back of the club, waiting to see some of Jules’s old coke customers. She glanced over at Vita dancing with a man. Vita was working it, and had dude against the wall, grinding her ass into his crotch. Zya looked at the man’s face and immediately recognized him.
“Bingo. Black Ty,” she whispered to herself as she made her way over to him. Black Ty was a young hustler who used to cop from Jules a while back. Zya remembered driving Jules over to his spot a couple of times. His big-ass lips made him easy to spot.
Zya tapped Vita, letting her know she wanted to cut in. Vita started dancing with another nigga that stood to her right, and Zya start backing that ass up. She turned around and met eyes with Ty.
“Oh, shit! What up, Zya?”
“What up, Ty?”
Ty stepped back a little while dancing with Zya. He didn’t want to disrespect his man by being all up on his lady. Zya grabbed his hand and pulled him right back on her ass. She grinded on him, feeling his pipe begin to grow. Ty grabbed Zya by her waist and gently pushed her away.
“Damn, girl, you trying to have me beefin’ with Jules, huh?” he asked as he licked his lips and looked her up and down with a lustful gaze.
“Nah, it ain’t even like that,” she said as she stopped dancing and turned toward him. “I do have to holla at you about something for a minute,” Zya whispered in his ear seductively.
“What’s up?”
Zya grabbed Ty’s hand and led him to her table at the back of the club. They both sat down, and Zya had Black Ty’s full attention.
“You still moving weight, right?”
“Yeah, you know it. That’s why I came. Since Jules been gone, it’s been hard to get my hands on some decent shit.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s back.”
“It’s back? I thought Jules was still locked up.”
“Nah, nah . . . I got the same shit, but for a cheaper price,” Zya said as she pointed to herself. She continued, “I’m letting them go for fourteen a pop.”
“Fourteen?” Ty said with raised eyebrows.
“Fourteen!” she confirmed.
“And it’s the same coke Jules had?” Black Ty asked, trying to make sure he wasn’t falling for the okey-doke.
She could see Black Ty becoming more interested, so she continued to hustle. “Yeah, and I’m getting down to my last couple bricks, so if you going to jump on it, you better do it quick,” Zya lied, trying to get a sell.
Ty sat there in silence for a minute. It seemed like he was thinking hard about what he was about to say. He did the math in his head and knew that he couldn’t beat it. “You can’t beat fourteen a brick. Fuck it, I want four. How quick can you get them to me?”
Zya wanted to jump up and down right there, but she kept her composure. She reached into her purse and grabbed a pen. She wrote her number on a napkin and slid it to Ty. “Call me tomorrow night,” she said as she got up and walked away from the table. She had just made her first connection of the night, but it wasn’t her last.
“Like I said, I’m down to my last ones, so you better jump on it,” Zya said, kicking the same game she had used all night.
“I’ll go and get the money now. I need them, Zya, badly,” Roc said. He knew that he was getting a deal, and he didn’t want to let the opportunity slip out of his hands.
“Nah, it’s cool. Just use the number I gave you and call me tomorrow night.”
Zya walked away from the bar, leaving Roc with his nose wide open, hoping that he could get down. Throughout the night, Zya discussed business with at least ten different niggas about the coke, and they all wanted in. Each one was Jules’s old customer. Everybody was a bit hesitant to deal with her at first, but after they heard the offer she was making, they knew it was too good to refuse. Her sales pitch got better and better with each conversation. By the end of the night, Zya had become a certified hustler.
At around 2 A.M., the party began to wind down and people started to leave the club. Vita and Zya sat at the back table and watched as the club’s light switched on and the dance floor became vacant. Everyone was going toward the exit, but one man was entering the club.
Zya looked closer and noticed that it was Smitty. He stuck out like a sore thumb. He was twice the age of most people in the club, and he wore a black silk shirt with gators to match. Smitty was an old school, fresh-ass player who was well respected. A toothpick hung out of his mouth as he smoothly walked across the room, looking for his old friend. Zya watched as Smitty scanned the room.
“I’ll be right back,” Zya said to Vita as she slid out of the booth and headed toward Smitty. Smitty spotted Zya coming toward him, and he flashed his pearly whites at her.
“Hey, lovely. Where’s the man of the hour?”
“Oh, you didn’t hear? They on some bullshit and trying to keep Jules in on some bad behavior shit. He got into a little scuffle a couple days ago,” Zya lied.
“That’s just like a nigga to hate on someone before he gets free.”
“I know,” Zya agreed.
“I was really looking forward to seeing my man too. He’s missing a lot of money right now. Know what I mean?”
“Really? He told me to holla at you. I lost your number, but you know what they say.”
“What’s that?”
“All work and no play . . .”
Smitty paused for a minute, trying to figure out what Zya was trying to say. He got the picture and then smiled while finishing Zya’s sentence. “Makes a dull day.”
From that night on, Zya supplied Smitty his bricks.
Snow drove through the streets of Jersey in his snow white Benz, the same color of the product that enabled him to buy the luxury car. He inhaled the weed smoke as he banged 2pac’s “Hailmary” out of his sub woofers.
“I ain’t a killa, but don’t push me. Revenge is like the sweetest joy next to getting pussy.” Snow rapped along to the lyrics and watched as all eyes were on him as he cruised the city streets. At 27, he supplied the suppliers with the best cocaine from his overseas connect. He was in a comfortable situation and was getting a lot of money out of the streets. The last couple of months he noticed an increase in his income, and knew the main reason behind it: Zya.
I don’t know how she does it. She re-ups every three days. I have never seen anyone move weight so quick. She’s moving weight like a nigga out here. Maybe I need to relocate and get some of that Brooklyn money. If Zya is moving them bricks like she is, I know I can get crazy money there. Yeah, that’s not a bad idea. Maybe I need to give Zya a call and see what’s up. I’m glad she’s on my team, Snow thought.
Zya had been buying bricks left and right. The way Zya was moving coke, everyone was happy, because everyone was getting money. Snow even lowered his prices for Zya. She was his number one customer, and he wanted to keep her happy.
Actually, Snow wanted to do more than supply Zya with bricks. He wanted to supply her in the bedroom. He grew more and more attracted to her over the past few months. Having a beautiful woman around him was nothing new, but Zya’s demeanor set her apart from the rest. She was so gangster, and that’s what turned Snow on the most about her. She matched his wits, and he had never seen anybody hustle like her. It was like she was born to move coke. Every time she cashed Snow out for his product, her flipping through the money got him aroused. Snow told himself that he would never mix business with pleasure, but with Zya, he was willing to make an exception.
“Damn, girl, go easy on that blow,” Heavy said as he laughed at the sight of Vita indulging herself. He sat on the couch with a blunt in his mouth, making smoke circles.
“Shut the fuck up, Heavy,” Vita said as she hit another line of what she thought was cocaine.
He had been giving her powder heroin, telling her that it was blow. Heavy had discovered Vita was cheating on him with more than one person. He felt like she was on the verge of leaving him for someone else, and his insecurities emerged. The mind control that he once had over Vita was fading, and he wanted it back. Now she yearned for what Heavy had, and he finally regained control.
If Vita didn’t have her “coke,” she would get physically sick, but she never knew why. She was experiencing withdrawal from the heroin and didn’t even know it. She just knew that Heavy’s product was the only blow that got her where she needed to be. Heavy had total control over her, and she was helpless. Heavy was done with Vita, but he wanted her to suffer before he quit her.
“I’m serious, Vita. You need to slow down. You just did five lines in under an hour.”
Vita hit the last little bit of heroin on the table and looked at Heavy with a runny nose. “Heavy, let me get a li’l more, baby,” she begged.
“What you going to do for me?” Heavy asked as he puffed his blunt.
Vita stood to her feet and almost fell back down. She gathered herself and walked over to Heavy. She dropped to her knees and knelt directly in front of Heavy. “I’ll suck and fuck your dick so good, you’ll never forget it.”
Heavy grabbed Vita by the arms and shoved her aggressively. “I don’t want any of that dope-head pussy.”
Vita began to cry and rub her arms frantically. “Please, Heavy, let me get a little bit,” she pleaded, folding her hands, trying to sway him.
Heavy enjoyed torturing her, and he pulled out a bag of heroin and waved it from side to side, teasing her. “Remember what you were telling me a couple of weeks ago? About how much money did you see in Zya’s closet?”